Bottom of the Ninth
by watchtower482
Summary: April Kepner is a sports reporter married to Matthew Taylor. She's in the middle of the biggest season of her career (and life) when an old friend reappears and she's forced to deal with the relationship that never was. Completely AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

I settle into the couch, shifting my weight a bit. I know I shouldn't work on the couch, but I'm just so tired. I can hear Matthew in the other room. I can't remember if I said hello when I returned from work. I honestly can't remember if I've talked to him at all today.

Not that it matters.

I train my eyes back on the computer screen. It's blank. It's blank and I have a deadline in two hours.

One hour and fifty-eight minutes.

Fifty-seven minutes.

I shift my weight again. I pull my feet up onto the couch and rest the computer on my knees. I hear Matthew open up the office an door and tread up the stairs. He has heavy feet. It drives me crazy. I take in a deep break and blow out in an "O" shape. It almost creates a whistle.

One hour and fifty-one minutes.

I pull up my notes from the game earlier today. The Mariners beat the Brewers 3 to 1. My scorecard is on the couch next to me. I need an angle. These days writing for a print publication is damn near pointless. By the time anyone reads my story tomorrow, they will already know the score and have seen 100 variations of the stats. So, I need an angle. The Mariners are in the pennant race. Finally. I was a fan long before I started covering the team for the Seattle Daily News. So, I have a lot of emotion toward this season, and it's really, really hard not to cheer for the team.

Maybe that's the angle. A spin on the stats in the last twenty years. What's different about this year?

With that my fingers start moving. I type a line and then delete it. Then, a paragraph. I delete that, too. Damn it.

I move the computer over to the dark marble island in the kitchen. My back is to the refrigerator as I hunch over the laptop keys. I drum the fingers of my left hand on the marble. And start again.

Suddenly, I've written two pages, and I don't know how long Matthew has been standing over me.

"So … tomorrow?" He says.

"What? Yes! Yes, tomorrow." I reply without moving my eyes from the screen.

"Great … glad I could …"

"Wait, what?" I ask as Matthew retreats from the kitchen. He's barefoot on the white linoleum. He has on dark gray sweatpants, and he looks tired. "What's tomorrow?"

"The banquet." He says quietly.

"Banquet?" I hate that he doesn't wear socks in the house because he always insists then that it's cold.

"Yes, banquet. I'm getting an award," he says.

He's made his way back into the kitchen, and he's standing on the opposite side of the island now facing me. I give him a blank stare and blink back toward the computer screen. I type a few words and then look up at him again.

"Hang on," I say. I type a few more words. Delete a few. Write a few more. "Okay, sorry, what banquet?"

He's gone.

Sigh.

I want to go after him, but I really need to finish this article. And I really need to get it to my editor in the next thirty minutes or he'll have my head. What's another thirty minutes? I'm sure he's already mad at me.

I turn back to the laptop. It's not bad. The article. It definitely tells the story of what it means to be a Mariner's fan. I upload it to the server and pull out my cell phone.

 **[Sent: 11:58 p.m.] Hey Owen, just uploaded the article. It's a good one - nay, a great one. I'll be up for another hour if you need anything.**

 **[Received: 11:59 p.m.] Right under the wire, Kepner. Be in touch.**

Sigh. In some ways, Owen is a good guy. In other ways, he is a guy in a male-dominated world managing a woman. I hope that today he isn't in the mood to teach me any lessons.

I settle onto the dark blue couch and shift around the throw pillows a bit. I end up on my stomach, left arm dangling off the side and grazing the top of my cell phone. I try to will myself not to fall asleep.

Damn it. I'm sure Matthew is asleep by now.

I open up the calendar on my phone and switch it to our joint calendar. I don't see the banquet entry. He must have forgotten. I try to Google it.

 _Firefighters Honored for Wildfire Heroics - Governor to Give Medal of Honor_

Damn it. I scroll down some more. Yup. Matthew Taylor. Damn it. The article was written two days ago. He must have told me then.

 **[Sent: 12:32 a.m.] Arizona - you up? What are the chances I can have tomorrow off?**

 **[Received: 12:35 a.m.] Ask Owen.**

Sigh. Owen is the Sports Editor, but Arizona is the general manager of the newspaper. She and I get along great, and if she were to give me the day off, Owen would have to go for it.

 **[Sent: 12:37 a.m.] I forgot that Matthew is being honored tomorrow night. By the Governor! I have to go. Owen is going to be pissed.**

 **[Received: 12:39 a.m.] I'M pisssed. There's two games left in the season. You're our best baseball writer. Ask Owen.**

Damn it.

 **[Received: 12:47 a.m.] Kep, it's going to press. This will really appeal to our women readers.**

Leave it to Owen. My stuff can't have general appeal. It has to be "special." I stand slowly. I'm hungry. Starving actually. When did I last eat?

I rummage through the refrigerator, trying to be as quiet as possible. There is leftover pizza. Jackpot. I pull out two slices and throw them in the microwave. I sit on a stool at the island, feet dangling back and forth. I pull my phone over and start scrolling through scores from other games before just settling in and enjoying my food.

My phone chimes. Sigh. It's Arizona or Owen. I don't know who I'd rather hear from at this point. Neither. I think about ignoring it. But if it's Arizona and she's decided to give me tomorrow off, she might change her mind if I wait till morning to respond. If it's Owen, he might need a last minute edit. He would definitely be angry if I didn't respond.

Either way, I have to check. In a minute. I move over to the refrigerator and pull out an iced coffee before I sit in front of the phone again. Hm. 75% chance it's Arizona. Right? I mean Owen never asks for edits after he already approved the article. Oh, maybe he needs info for next week's potential flight.

Here goes nothing.

 **[Received: 1:22 a.m.] Dude! Just saw your story. I love it! You're killing it! Love you!**

 _Jackson._

I can feel the smile high in my cheekbones.

I scroll up a bit to our last messages. Seven months ago. I shake my head a bit. When did that happen?

I scroll back to the message of a few minutes ago. Haha. He always called me "dude". In text and in real life. Just saw the story? I wonder if he reads them all. I wonder if he was up waiting to read this one? No, that's crazy. Why would he do that? It's the middle of the night for most people. _Love you. Love you._ We always say that. It's always true, and we always say it.

 **[Sent: 1:29 a.m.] Long time, stranger! What are you doing up this late? Or this early? Where are you? Are you even in the country? :) I love you, too.**

 **[Sent: 1:31 a.m.] Oh yea, thanks for still reading!**

I try to remember the last time I saw Jackson. The memory is fuzzy. Coffee shop? Maybe. He was passing through town. I hadn't married Matthew yet.

I'm lost in the memory, and again I don't notice Matthew enter the kitchen.

"What are you so happy about?" He asks. There's a little bitterness in his voice.

"What? Oh, nothing. Owen just published a story without any edits - for once." I reach out to him and grasp his fingers with my own. "I'm sorry about the banquet."

He stares at me. I can't help but shift uncomfortably.

My phone dings again. I'm sure that I flush red.

"Who are you talking to now?" Matthew asks, his brow is furrowed a bit and he pulls his fingers away from mine.

"No one," I say. I choke a bit on my coffee. "I mean - not talking. Just waiting."

"What?"

"Waiting. For Arizona. I asked for tomorrow night off."

"Oh." He's quiet again. "You don't have to come. I'll ask my mom to go. I know your job is more important."

Sigh.

"Matthew, it's not more important. It's just. You know, there are only -"

"-two games left in the season. Yea, I know April. Last week, there were nine games left in the season. And the week before that there was less than a month to go. And before that it was just after the All-Star Break. Or just before the All-Star Break. It's always something April, and you're not even here half the time."

"That's not fair. You knew what I did when you married me. And you have no problem bragging to everyone about your wife being the only beat reporter for major league baseball in the country. That comes with sacrifices."

"Sacrifices? Right. I'm the sacrifice. I'm always the one left behind. Always the one that doesn't matter. Don't talk to me about sacrifices. You write about a sport for God's sake. You're not saving lives."

"Oh, excuse me, Mr. Hero. We can't all run into buildings for a living. I'm sorry I'm "just" a sports reporter."

I walk back toward the living room, leaving my phone on the island. I settle back onto the couch, facing the kitchen but not really looking at Matthew.

"And you know what, you're right. This is about sacrifices, and I've sacrificed a lot to be here. The Mariners can clinch the pennant for the first time in twenty years tomorrow, and I'll be damned if I'm going to miss it."

Silence.

I look back at him from the couch. He's looking at my phone now. My face turns red and our eyes meet.

"Jackson." He says.

Matthew knows about Jackson. They've met before. There's never been anything romantic between me and Jackson. Never. But he's hot and everyone knows it. So, I don't blame Matthew for being jealous. And even though he has no reason to be, I've always hid Jackson from him for the most part. Stupid move on my part, but we don't really talk that much anymore anyway.

"What?" I ask.

"Oh, don't pretend. You remembered the banquet all along, you just don't care because your beloved best friend is in town."

"What are you talking about? I had no idea. I just heard that from you."

"Right." He says. Glaring, he tosses the phone on the couch near my feet.

 **Received: 1:33 a.m.] I always read your stuff, you know that! Some things don't change. Not only am I in the country, I'm in town! I want to see you. Tomorrow night.**

Twenty minutes ago. He must have answered while Matthew and I were arguing. I close my eyes for a minute and breath deeply.

 **[Sent: 1:55 a.m.] Come see the Mariners clinch the pennant with me and we can hang out after.**

 **[Received: 1:56 a.m.] You + the Mariners? You truly are the perfect woman. See you tomorrow. 3**


	2. Chapter 2

_Since I'm so new, I didn't do the disclaimer or the author's notes. I'm learning! So, this is my first_ _fic. Ever. I love these characters, and I've been wanting to write this story with my own characters. I appreciate anyone who reads! This is my little bit of creative_ _indulgence.  
Characters don't belong to me!_

 **Chapter Two** \- Just a Girl in a Bar

 _Ten Years Earlier_

"Arizona, I want to go. Go. Home. Home." My speech is slurred. I'm hanging onto my best friend's arm, and she guides me through the double doors of a bar a few blocks from our apartment.

"Just one more, Kep." She places her hand on my lower back and gently pushes me through the door.

"Hey, Nic!" Arizona greets a woman standing behind the bar.

"Come here much?" I ask Arizona.

"Shhhhh hhhh…." She puts her fingers over her lips and attempts to quiet me, but she starts to giggle. She's drunk, too. This our third bar and our sixth hour of drinking. "That's Nic. I've told you about her." She's loud. Really loud.

"Hey, ladies," the blonde behind the bar is laughing at us. If I didn't know better, I'd think she's just as drunk as we are.

There's no one else in the bar. It's dark. I survey the booths and tables around the door to make sure we're alone. It's eerie.

"She's not even … OPEN!" I think that I'm whispering, but my voice echoes in my head. So, I'm probably yelling.

"I am!" Nic says, confirming that I am in fact louder than I think I am. "For …" she turns her wrist up and glances at the watch, "... 22 more minutes. Come sit. I was just about to pour a pitcher of beer. You can split it with me. On the house."

I'm standing behind a bar stool, trying to steady myself. "I don't think this is a good idea," I say.

"Come on, Kep," Arizona says. "You just had the … the WORSTTTT…. Day of your life. We're getting drunk. Sleeeeepp. Sleeping it off and you'll forget it all."

Sigh.

I struggle to put my leg over the barstool.

"Okay fine," I say. But I haven't sat down yet. "Nic, where's your bathroom?"

She gestures to the left of the dimly lit bar. I push off the bar stool and move toward the bathroom. It smells. Like beer and vomit, and I don't know what else. I take a deep breath and try to keep from getting sick myself.

After using the restroom, I splash cold water on my face. I stare at my eyes. They're bloodshot, and there are dark rings under them. What a shitty day. I move back toward the main bar.

As I walk over, I notice another bartender behind the bar. Nic is sitting on the barstool next to Arizona and they're laughing.

"Okay, Arizona, just twenty …" I stumble a bit as my thighs hit the barstool. The most gorgeous man I have ever seen is standing behind the bar.

I move to stand behind Arizona and whisper in her ear: "He's BEAUTIFUL. WHO is THAT?" She and Nic giggle.

The tall, caramel-colored man walks around the bar and extends his hand with a smile on his face.

"I'm Jackson."

For a brief moment, I think I'm going to faint. His eyes are twinkling. They're blue or green. I can't tell in the dark bar.

I'm sure I'm a deep shade of red. He heard me.

I shake his hand. And spin around too quickly, falling in a heap on the floor. He reaches down and helps me up.

"And you are?"

"Very … embarr -embass - embarrassed," I say. I move toward Arizona and grip her forearm. Nic is amused. I can tell.

"Tell him your name," Arizona says.

"Oh shit. Yes, of course. I'm April." I say awkwardly. I put my hand out forgetting we already did that part. His eyes are twinkling, and he takes my hand again. He guides me over to the barstool and then returns back to his side of the bar.

"Can I get you some water, April?" He asks.

"Yes!" It comes out like a yelp, and I can see Arizona and Nic laughing. They're not even quiet about it.

He pours the water, and I gulp it down. Not a good idea. My stomach is swaying. I take a few deep breaths and stare at him. When I realize I'm staring, I avert my eyes and stare at the empty glass.

My eyes narrow a bit as his gaze fixes on mine.

"I don't usually drink like this," I say once my head stops swimming.

"It's all good," he says. "I'm not here to judge."

"Thanks," I say. And without excusing myself or thinking, I stumble off the stool and head back to the bathroom. Arizona is laughing.

When I return, the three are deep in conversation. Arizona and Nic somehow seem more sober. I look up at the clock. It's an hour after closing time. The alcohol is gone, and everyone is drinking water. Jackson seems tired now. He's leaning on the bar, talking to the two women, but he keeps glancing at the clock.

I make my way over to the stool, and I'm happy to find that I can actually sit without help. I smile at Jackson.

"Do you need more water?" He moves back toward me.

"Sure, thanks," I say. He refills the glass and replaces it in front of me. "Do you need us to leave? You're closed."

"Well, I can't leave until she leaves," he gestures to Nic.

"Oh! Is she? With. You?"

"Oh, no, no, no nothing like that." He laughs. And I think I could spend the rest of my life listening to him laugh. "She owns this place. She's my boss."

"Oh," I laugh a little. I'm relieved, but I don't know why.

"So, Arizona says you had a rough day?" He asks. I can't tell if he actually cares or if he's just trying to kill time.

"Uh. Yea. I got fired. FIRED! I got fired today! I'm the best writer they've ever seen, but one of my coworkers - jackass - decided that he couldn't work with me. He has seniority, so I got fired. Have you ever heard of anything that stupid? They're going to be so sorry they missed out -"

I stop. Embarrassed again. Jackson is smiling again.

"I'm sorry," I continue. "I'm sure you've had a long day, too. You don't care about my problems."

"No worries. I listen for a living. And I have some time to kill," he says. He points at Nic again. She and Arizona are deep in conversation.

I smile and look down at my glass. He moves away and starts cleaning the bar.

"Let's get out of here, Kep," Arizona says finally.

I stand. We link arms and turn toward the door. Arizona coughs a few times, walking slowly.

"Oh wait!" Jackson comes around the bar and walks over to me. "I never really do this, but you're the most beautiful girl I've seen in this bar. Can I have your number?"

I think my jaw drops. By instinct, I turn around to see who he is talking to.

"Yea, you, April. Who else?" He says, smiling.

"You don't want to talk to me again," I say. "Trust me. I'm bad luck."

I pull on Arizona and drag her to the door.

"I'm going to have Arizona give you my number then! Nice to meet you, April!" He calls after me.

Arizona and I walk out into the cold air. I see a suspicious smile on her face.

"What?" I ask, breathing in the cold air. It feels good. I'm sobering up and feeling better about my day all at the same time.

"Don't hate me."

"What?" I say, not really listening. I'm looking at the streetlights, thinking about what I'm going to do when I wake up. Find a new job, I guess.

"I told him," she starts. "I told him you had a bad day and that you were into him. So, I asked him to ask for your number to make you feel better."

I smacked her arm.

"Great!" I said. "Not only did I get fired, but the most gorgeous man I've ever met asked for my number out of pity. This day could not be any worse."

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I meant well." Arizona wraps her arms around my shoulders and I struggle to break free.

"Well, I can never go back to that bar again," I say. "In fact, I may never drink again."

"Yea, right, Kep."


	3. Chapter 3

_**Sorry for the delay. Work and life and all that fun got in the way. Also, there is a fair amount of baseball talk at the start of this. If that's not your thing, it won't be the entire story. I promise. Anyhow, thanks for indulging me in this.**_

 **Chapter Three**

 _The last time the Mariner's were even in the playoffs, I was …._

I stop writing. Owen was not going to like another retrospective column. But that was the story, right? It had been 17 years. I was 11 years old! It was a big deal for the whole city. Not only had it be 17 years since the Mariners made the playoffs, but some analysts were also saying they could make it all the way to the World Series. That would be a first. AND I was the lead baseball writer for the _Seattle Times_. That meant that my work would be read on a national level.

I shifted a bit on the couch. It was 11:30 a.m. I needed to get my pre-game thoughts written and submitted in the next 30 minutes if I was going to make it to the stadium on time. Damn it. This was a horrible time for writer's block.

My phone chimes on the kitchen island.

I stand slowly. I shouldn't check it. I need to finish this blog post before I leave; otherwise, I won't have time at the stadium. Sigh. I sink back into the couch.

The phone chimes again. I put it out of my head this time and place my fingers on my laptop keyboard with purpose. Then, I start slowly. Soon, I'm in my own world, and the post is done. It's sent to Owen. I check the clock. 12:09 p.m. Great. I haven't even showered. I'm wearing one of Matthew's old t-shirts and a pair of socks. There's no way that I will be at the stadium by one. I pull up the timeline for the day. If I get a move on, I'll be able to slide into the back of the all-team press-conference.

I run up the stairs. Shower. Put on some fresh clothes and pull my hair up into a bun. I pull on my tennis shoes as I hurry toward the stairs, grabbing my bag from the top step. I take a moment to rifle through it to find my press pass, notebook, and various chargers. Satisfied with my set up, I grab my laptop and phone and toss it in the bag.

I pull up to Safeco Field. It's quiet. I love the stadium like this. I take a deep breath. This is it. My dad and I waited for this moment. Or this possible moment. I remind myself not to get ahead of myself and that I need to be a professional. Two deep breaths and I get out of the car.

It occurs to me as I take a few steps toward the press entrance that I never checked my phone at home. Dammit. Owen would have my head if he was the one who sent the text. I look down at the phone. Eight text messages.

 **[Received: 11:37 a.m.] Kep, where is that post? We need it live ASAP.**

 **[Received: 11:41 a.m.] Kep, seriously. Where is it? I'm heading to the office. It better be live when I get there.**

 **[Received: 11:42 a.m.] April, I know it's your big day and all, but I'm having an issue. I won't be able to pick up my dry cleaning between my shift and the dinner tonight. Can you please grab it before you head out and leave it on the bed. Thanks.**

[ **Received: 11:43 a.m.] Kep, I hope you're on the way to the stadium. Owen is freaking out. Do you remember you have a deadline?**

 **[Received: 11:44 a.m.] Dude! I'm so excited to see you. Today's the day! I hope it's still cool for me to hang out with you after the game. Let me know where to meet when you have a chance.**

 **[Received: 11:45 a.m.] Oh, and congratulations! This is your day! Did I say I'm so proud of you?**

 **[Received: 11:45 a.m.] April, me again. Can you log into my computer and find the directions to the banquet and send them to my mom?**

 **[Received: 12:15 p.m.] You pulled it off. Owen will meet you in the press box at 6. Call if you need anything.**

I take a deep breath. Some of this I don't want, but I need to respond to it all.

"Hey, Kep!" Joey shouts at me across the hall. He's one of the longest-standing employees of Safeco Field. As the head of security, he's usually the first and last person I see at the stadium. He's in his mid-sixties and moved over from the Mariners' Kingdome Stadium. A grandfather of seven, he's always treated me like I belonged, even when I was just starting out and no one knew me.

"This is the year!" I shout over my shoulder. When I get into the press box, I settle into my usual seat, pulling out all of my various charging cords. Then, I pick up my phone.

Arizona is first.

 **[Sent: 12:57 p.m.] Hey Arizona - just checking in. I'm here. Will meet up with Owen at 6.**

 **[Sent: 12:57 p.m.] Today's the day!**

I couldn't help sending the second text. Arizona has known me as long as I've wanted to be a baseball writer. And she knows what a fan I am.

 **[Sent: 1:03 p.m.] Owen - sorry. I turned the phone off to get the article done. Arizona said it went to press. See you at 6.**

 **[Sent 1:07 p.m.] Dude! Yea! This is it! It's our year! Be here at 5. I'll get you set up. Love you!**

I turn to the laptop. I need to answer Matthew's texts, but I'm dreading it. There's no way I can do what he needs me to do. And he's already barely speaking to me. Sigh.

 **[Received: 1:12 p.m.] Roger that. See you at 5. Love you back.**

I smile a little. Jackson just might be a bigger Mariners' fan than I am. I would never admit that to his face, but he definitely gives me a run for my money when it comes to random stats or random memories of games from twenty years ago. Part of me wishes for a moment that I wasn't working the game today so I could sit with him during the game.

 **[Sent 1:17 p.m.] Do you remember that game … I think it was in 2002. The twelve inning one?**

 **[Received: 1:18 p.m.] The one that Bagwell won for the Astros? In the bottom of the 12th? Oh gosh. That was the night we couldn't stop laughing. I mean I don't think I've ever laughed that long before.**

I smile. I sat in that bar for hours. Hours and hours. I'm sure the bar had closed by the time we walked out into the drizzly cool air laughing about all of the hours we had lost off of our lives because we were watching the Mariners lose again. We always walked slowly in the rain. Jackson always said it was the best thing you could do for your soul. Walk slowly in the rain.

"Who's got that blush in your cheeks?" Joey is standing next to me. "Is that Matty? Tell him I say hello! Hope to see him later."

"Hmm." I'm still a little lost. "Oh, hey Joey. No, Matthew is busy tonight."

"Aww, that's too bad. Would have been nice to see him." He sits down next to me. "Gotta get a few minutes of rest in while I can," he says. We both laugh.

I look back at my phone for a moment and try to fight the smile.

"So sweet to see your love for Matty," he says. "But I know baseball has never been his thing."

"Right, right," I say. "It's definitely not." I force a smile. I still haven't answered him. "Hey Joey, I'm going to step out and call him. I'll let him know you say hello." I squeeze the older man's shoulders on my way out of the press box.

"Hello?" Matthew answers as though he doesn't know it's me.

"Hey," I keep my voice low, hoping no one hears me. The other reporters are starting to file in as I stand outside in the hallway. "Matthew. I'm sorry, I didn't see your text until I was already in the press box."

Silence.

"Did you hear me?"

"Yea. Got it."

"I'm sorry. Really. I would have taken care of it all if I had known …"

"It's fine."

"Well, umm… okay. Then, I guess have a good -" I hear the line go quiet. "Matthew?"

I take a deep breath. I walk up the hallway a bit trying to center myself before dialing again.

"Well, if it isn't the best girl in Seattle." Jackson's greeting makes me smile.

"Jackson," I say, and I stop. I just want to savor the sound of his voice for a moment. "It's really good to hear your voice."

He laughs a little. "Yours, too. How have you been?"

"I mean … I'm standing at Safeco on the day the Mariners are going to clinch the division. How do you think?" My voice is light, and I can't stop smiling. "How have you been? How long has it been since I've heard your voice?"

"Hmm," he stops for a moment. "It's been a while, I think. A year or more. Nope. A year. You called me last year when the Mariners' season ended."

I laughed. I remembered that night. I was so drunk. Last season hurt so bad. The team came so close and just fell short. I thought about quitting my job so I would never have to see a loss that close again. Of course, I didn't, and now I was glad Jackson told me to stick with it.

"Ah yes. That was not one of my finer moments. Sorry about that."

"Don't be sorry. I like to think I hold the world record for being there for all of your not finer moments," he laughs again.

"You do. For sure." I stop for a moment and think of so many other moments that Jackson has witnessed that I would hate for anyone else to see.

"Hey … you still there?" He sounds a little worried.

"Oh yea, just distracted for a moment. So, here's the deal, go down to the staff will call and ask for the tickets left by April Kepner. I'll meet you at your seat after the game."

"Cool."

"I wish we could watch it together! That would be the ultimate dream!"

"Yea, dude. Seriously. But this is as good as it gets." He stops again. The silence is comfortable, though. "I'll see you when the Mariners' are champs!"

"You know it! We're going to celebrate tonight!"

The Mariners pull it off in nine innings. And I can hardly contain myself. Between the on-field celebrations, locker room celebrations, and post-game press conference, and filing my story, I'm not done until 1 a.m., two hours after the game ended. Suddenly, I remember Jackson. Shit. I scan the stadium seats. They're empty. Not a person in sight.

I pull my phone out. No missed messages. I sigh a little. He's pretty easygoing, and we've always had our own lives, but I can't imagine that he would have left without saying anything. Suddenly, the entire day hits me. The fact that my dad isn't there. My day has been so long. Matthew and I fought again. And now Jackson is gone.

I make my way up to the press box again to pack up my bag and make my way home to sleep for twenty hours. I hope.

I scroll through my Twitter feed on my phone as I make my way down the now-dark hallway. Between the lack of light and my focus on my phone, I almost trip over a figure sitting a few feet away from the door to the press box.

"Jackson!"

He stands quickly and pulls me into a tight hug, spinning me around and lifting me off my feet. I can't help but break into a fit of giggles.

"You waited!"

He smiles. "Of course, I did. This was our big night. But I know you had to work."

"Aww thank you. Thank you," I say. "It's so good to see you. Come in, come in." I gesture for him to follow me into press box.

He takes a seat nearest to the door.

"Dude," he starts. "I can't believe they did it. Seriously."

"I know. I know. This is my dream come true." I stop for a moment. Then I start to cry a bit. "They did it."

"So glad I could be here," he said.

"Me too." I finished putting my stuff together. "So where to? Still wanna hang out."

He turned his wrist. "Well, it's after two a.m. now. I guess …."

"We can go to my house."

"Matthew won't mind?"

"Ehhh. Maybe. No. I don't know. I kind of don't care right now." I walk toward the door and gesture that we leave now. "Things aren't so great between him and me right now. I don't want to talk about it though. This is the night! I want to be happy."

He smiles at me. And we head out to the parking lot.

It's 5 a.m. when the sun starts to come up. Jackson and I are sitting on my back porch. I'm wrapped in two blankets, and he has his hoodie on. It's cool, but not cold.

"Do remember that night Jacoby came in?"

"To the bar?" He asks. He's quiet for a moment. I can't tell if he's drunk or tired or both. "Ohhh yea. He came in with like 18 women, and they wouldn't leave."

"Do you remember? 'I won't leave until she's out of here! Get her out of here!' He was so mad that you were letting me sit at the bar and were trying to throw him out. And the whole time, you're saying 'she's drinking water! She's drinking water!'"

We both laugh. I'm sitting across from him, and now I'm doubled over almost down on my knees from the laughter. I'm drunk, but it feels good. I look up and see Matthew's face in the window. He moves away quickly.

"What's wrong?" Jackson asks.

"Matthew. I think I woke him up."

Thirty minutes later, Matthew steps outside. Jackson and I have stopped talking, and we're just kind of staring at each other.

"Hey," Matthew says. "Headed to work. The awards dinner was fine, thanks for asking. Nice to see you, Jackson."

His words are stilted, and Jackson doesn't even have a chance to respond before he's out the door.

"I'm sorry," Jackson says. "It's not a problem that I'm here?"

"No, of course not. I'm the problem."

We're quiet again.

"Do you remember that night we talked till 8 a.m.?"

Jackson stares at me. "Which night? There were so many."

"True."

I stare at him for a while. He's one of the few people that I can keep extended eye contact with. My parents were the others. It's not unnerving like it is with some people.

"I miss you," I say after a few minutes of silence.

After a few more minutes, Jackson asks: "Do you ever wonder why we never dated?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks so much to those who are reading! I appreciate the comments. I haven't quite figured out how to respond to them, but know that I appreciate them.  
I realized I screwed up the timeline a bit in the last chapter (but it's just baseball inaccuracies if you care about that stuff). So, in the flashbacks, April and Jackson are both 22. In the present day chapters, 32. I imagine Lexie is the same age as them. Mark, Derek, Meredith and Arizona older than them. They won't matter too much to the present day, though. **

**Chapter Four**

 ** _Ten Years Earlier_**

"April? April? For the love of God, April? What is that smell?"

I hear Arizona open the door to my bedroom. A few seconds later, sunlight is on my face. I blink rapidly trying to focus on her.

"What the hell, Arizona?" I sit up. Angry. My head is pounding. I sway a little, trying to steady myself.

She walks over to my head and shoves something in my face. A bottle of water. She places two pills on my nightstand. Then, she sits at the foot of my bed.

"April, are you ever going to leave your bed? I mean, it's been two weeks. Are you going to just lay here forever or -"

"What time is it?" I ask. I grab the two Advil from the nightstand and swallow them. "Thanks."

"Five."

"In the morning? Seriously, what the hell. What is wrong with you?"

"Five. IN THE EVENING." Arizona raises her voice. "It's five in the evening. You've slept all day. AGAIN. I'm really starting to get worried here."

"Don't worry about me," I say. "I'm not worth it." I fall face first into my pillow, block out out the light. My body relaxes a little while the headache dissipates. I can feel my shoulders relax. Then, my back. I breathe deeply and slowly.

"April, seriously, you're scaring me." Arizona pulls on my shoulder until I turn on my back and face her. "It was just a job."

"No, it wasn't JUST a job. And that's easy for you to say. You still have that job. And I would still have that job too if it wasn't for Derek and his beloved Meredith. You know there's no way she should have been promoted ahead of me."

"April, come on. Think about the big picture. You always said you didn't want to write entertainment for a living. Right? What happened to that?"

"You're right. I don't. It's horrible. It's shallow and superficial, and it's boring in Seattle." I sit up and look at her closely. My head throbs again, and I squint at her. "Shallow and superficial. Perfect for Meredith, now that I think about it."

"That's the spirit!" She says and laughs a little. "Now, get up and take a shower and shake this off. I'm taking you to dinner.

We're just finishing up our dinner when Arizona's friend, Nic, walks into the restaurant. Arizona waves her over, and she joins our table.

"Did you just get off work?" Arizona asks her.

"Nope, just heading in, actually," Nic says. She smiles at me, but I don't say anything. I still haven't forgotten our first encounter a couple of weeks ago. "You guys should walk down with me once I grab my food. First round of drinks is on me."

"Sure!" Arizona says brightly.

"Um, I think I'm going to head back home," I say. "You know, get a … uh .. a jump on the job search."

"What?" Arizona asks. "No, April. It's Friday night. Just a few drinks with me and you can hit the pavement on Monday to find something."

"Actually, I'm not feeling so great. You know, I went out last night. And kind of this morning."

"Oh come on," Nic says. "We'll keep an eye on you." She winks at Arizona.

I sigh. I'm outnumbered, and I really don't think either of them remembers the situation with the bartender. Well, I can only hope he's not working tonight.

We walk the two block down to Nic's bar, and I take my seat at the end of the bar relieved not to see Jackson behind the bar. Today, there's an older man who introduces himself as Mark. He's pretty handsome himself, and he gives me a warm smile. I blush a little but blame it on the vodka in front of me.

Nic comes out of her office after a few moments and greets Mark with a kiss on the cheek.

"How's the missus?" She asks him.

"She's great." He smiles. "She should be here in a few minutes actually. We're heading out after my shift ends."

My heart sinks. Ends. I hope another bartender not named Jackson is coming in to replace him.

"Make sure she says hi before you two head out," Nic says to Mark breaking my train of thought. She turns to me, "Lexie was a waitress here forever. She's a doll. You'll love her."

I smile. All I can think about is getting out of here. I look at Arizona. I'm sure I look awful because she immediately stands next to me and whispers in my ear. I try to shake her off.

"I don't want to see Jackson," I whisper.

"Jackson!" Mark exclaims. Apparently, I'm never quiet. "How do you know my partner? He should be here any minute …"

"We were in here a couple of weeks ago and -" Arizona stops short as I elbow her in the ribs. Mark doesn't seem to notice.

"Jackson is my protegé," Mark continues. "I taught him everything I know. But don't hold it against me!" He laughs. "He's been distracted lately. I take no responsibility for that! Girlfriend troubles, of course."

Girlfriend? I sink into the barstool - if that were possible. Why did Arizona ask him to ask for my number? Did she not know? How could she not? And why did he ask for it? My head is spinning again. I want nothing more than to get out of here.

"Arizona," I say. "Uhh, I'm not feeling so well. Can you help me in the bathroom?"

I pull her into the bathroom and into the wider stall.

"Girlfriend?"

"What? What are you talking about?"

"Uhh. Jackson has a girlfriend? What would possess you to have him ask for my number?"

"Oh, that." She sighs. "They were broken up when we came in. Now, they're back together." She says it as if it were the most logical thing in the world.

I narrow my eyes. "Arizona. That just sounds like baggage. Messy, messy baggage. Why would you subject me -"

"Kep, calm down," Arizona says. "Jackson and Stephanie break up every other week. How serious could they be? And it's not like anything happened. Have you seen the guy? I'm sure he gives out his number five times a night."

"None of this is making me feel any better."

"Well, it should. It was supposed to be fun. You know coffee. Dancing. Something simple. Not an engagement. Now, let's get back out there. Just pretend it never happened. I'm sure he's forgotten by now."

Sigh.

I compose myself and we both exit the bathroom. I take my position at the end of the bar. Mark and Nic are deep in conversation when Nic suddenly looks up and is waving at the door. Jackson walks in with a gorgeous redhead. I put my face in my hands.

"Is THAT Stephanie?" I hiss at Arizona.

"What?" She turns her head. "Oh no, that's Lexie." She smiles broadly at both Jackson and Lexie. When Lexie spots Arizona, she squeals a bit, and they hug.

"How often DO you come here?" I ask Arizona.

"Oh, hush. A couple of times a week. Lexie is cool. You'll love her."

"So, I've heard."

Lexie joins us, and I learn that she's a writer, too. We actually do get along quite well, and we're deep in conversation when Jackson takes over for Mark. By that time, it's late, and Mark just takes a place on the customer side of the bar on the other side of Lexie.

"Hey," Jackson says to me once he's settled in. "You're - um, you're with Arizona? Sorry, I'm a little distracted. I don't remember your name."

Great. If it weren't for Lexie, I'd walk right out from the embarrassment alone. I've been mad at Arizona for two weeks, and he doesn't even remember who I am.

"April," I say.

"Yes! That's it. April. How could I forget." He smiles, and I instantly relax. "Can I get you something?"

"Another beer would be great."

He serves me and then makes his way to the other customers. I turn back to Lexie.

"Hey, are you the April Kepner writing for the Seattle Daily News?" She asks. I nod. "Cool. My sister works there. Maybe you know her? Meredith?"

I almost spit my drink out. Of course.

"Oh, yea. I don't work there anymore," I say carefully. I like Lexie so far. She's nothing like Meredith. "I saw her maybe once or twice. I didn't know her well."

Mark laughs.

"What?" I ask.

"It's nothing," Lexie says. "It's just I don't get along with my sister. Half-sister actually. So, it's all good if you know her and don't like her."

"Oh," I say. I relax again. "No, I really didn't know her too well at all. I worked with Derek for a while."

Lexie rolls her eyes. That makes me laugh.

"Oh hey," Lexie says, tapping on the bar getting Jackson's attention. "Jackson is a writer too."

He smiles at Lexie.

"Lexie is too generous," he says. "I type words sometimes. They don't go anywhere."

I laugh. "Right now, that's true for me, too." He smiles.

"What did you write for the Daily News?" Jackson asks me.

"Entertainment," I say with a sigh.

"What? You don't like lifestyles of the rich and famous?" He asks me.

"Ha! No. Actually. I was trying to work my way over to sports." I look down at my drink again. I can't believe Lexie is Meredith's half-sister. I look at her again. Now, I can kind of see it. Then, I look up at Jackson. He's still looking at me.

"Sports?" He looks at me curiously. "What sport?"

"Baseball," I say. "I'm going to be a beat reporter for the Seattle Mariners if it kills me. And it just may do that."

"Don't say that," Jackson says. "You'll get there."

"Thanks," I say. I smile.

Three hours later, Arizona is gone. Mark is begging Lexie to leave, but she and I have been having a great time. One other patron is sitting at the bar, so Jackson has had a lot of time to chat with us about writing and sports. But now there is a lull in the conversation, and I'm kind of sad because I feel like the night will be coming to an end sooner than I'd like. Sure enough, Lexie and Mark both stand up.

"You okay?" Lexie leans across the bar and holds the top of Jackson's hand. She's whispered the question, and I'm not sure if that's for my benefit or his. He nods his head.

Once Lexie and Mark are gone, Jackson's features look dark. His bright smile is gone, and he gets to work cleaning the bar. I sit there somewhat stupidly, but now I've been drinking for a few hours, and I don't trust myself to get up.

"You ever wonder if someone is worth it?" Jackson asks me after about twenty minutes of silence. I'm surprised.

"Uh. I mean. No, not really. I …. Um … do you mean your girlfriend?" I ask.

"You know about Steph? Who?" He goes quiet. "Oh, Arizona." He turns back to his work before he looks up at me again. "Yea, I guess Steph. But not really. Just in general. Like do you ever think about how the people who are in our lives are in our lives? And how they stay there?"

The question might be just a bit too deep for my current state. I stare blankly and feel stupid because of it. So, I try to compose myself.

"I think," I start. "I think - well, everyone is in our life for a reason."

"Pretty common cliche, don't you think?" He asks.

"Well, I hope you don't think I'm weird, but I think it's a little more than that simple. I think we meet the people we're connected to. Umm. Uh. Spiritually."

"Hmm," he says. "I'm listening."

"Well, and I'm not necessarily religious, but I believe we have a soul. And I think we share parts of our souls with others. Not everyone, but we have connections. Kind of like genes. But they aren't necessarily all our family members. So, sometimes, we just connect. And I think we're always drawn to the right people - for whatever reason - even if we don't know it at the time."

"I like that," he says. "So, on that note. What's the deal with Lexie's sister?"

"What?" I ask surprised.

"You didn't seem too happy when you figured that whole thing out. Meredith is not connected to your soul?"

I frown.

"No, definitely not. Meredith Grey was most definitely a roadblock for my soul. For my path to the Mariners."

"That good, huh?"

"But, well, maybe I was supposed to meet Lexie. I mean maybe if it didn't happen here, it would have happened eventually, and Meredith would have been that connection. I don't know. Maybe that's stupid. Maybe I never see Lexie again."

"You will," Jackson says. He smiles.

"So what was the question about? Your girlfriend? Stephanie?"

"Yea. Kind of. Maybe. I just don't get the point sometimes," he says. "Like I love her. For real. I will probably marry her. But damn if she doesn't make me angry."

I smile at him. I nod my head a bit to indicate understanding.

After a few minutes, I ask him, "Do you believe in soul mates?"

"I don't know. I guess so?" He says. He's completely stopped working now. The final customer has left, and it's just the two of us in the bar.

"Is Stephanie your soulmate?"

"No," he answers quickly.

"But you love her?"

"Yea."

"Interesting," I say. I take a long drink of water. He's staring at me. "I have this theory," I say. He's nodding. "I think we have soulmates and we have people we connect with on an intellectual level, and we have people we love with our hearts."

"Body, mind, and soul," he says.

"Exactly," I say. I stop again. I'm sobering up, but I don't want to mess this up. "I think in romantic relationships we marry the people we love with our hearts."

"I get that," he says. "But because the other two may not match up - soul and mind - we get really angry with the ones we love."

"You got it," I say.

We're both quiet now. He's cleaning up the bar. I assume he's closing as Nic left about an hour ago. I'm not even really sure what I'm doing here anymore. It's a little weird to be in a locked up bar.

"I'm almost done," he says. I give him a small smile. "You must be tired. I can walk you out if you don't mind waiting a few more minutes."

"Sure," I say. "You never did say what you write."

"That's right, I didn't," he responds. I laugh. I figured he didn't want me to know, but I wanted to keep the conversation going.

"I need to look for a new job," I say. I sigh again. "I hate looking for jobs."

"Well, I'll give you a little advice," he says. "If you want to write sports, don't take a job writing entertainment."

"Wow," I say. "Pure genius. Thanks for that." We're both laughing.

"Come on," he says. "Let's get out of here." We walk to the door together. "Where do you live?" He asks.

"About two blocks that way," I say, gesturing with my hand.

"It's late," he says. "I'll walk you."

We walk the two blocks in a comfortable silence. When we reach the door of my building, Jackson puts his hand out to shake mine.

"Thanks for the company, April," he says. "I work the same shift every week."

"Noted," I say.


	5. Chapter 5

**_This one is kind of short, but because I have locked myself into this alternating chapter scheme with past and present, it kind of needs to stop here. Hopefully, it's not confusing this way. Thanks for reading!_**

 **CHAPTER FIVE**

 _I stare at him for a while. He's one of the few people that I can keep extended eye contact with. My parents were the others. It's not unnerving like it is with some people._

 _"I miss you," I say after a few minutes of silence._

 _After a few more minutes, Jackson asks: "Do you ever wonder why we never dated?"_

I pull the blankets around my shoulders and stand slowly. I steady myself on the arm of the chair that I just vacated. Taking a deep breath, I make sure I can walk before I move back to the house. I enter silently, but I hear Jackson right behind me, so I make sure the door doesn't slam in his face.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I shouldn't have asked that. Matthew … you're … you're married."

I turn to him and smile.

"Since when do we not ask each other everything?" I ask. "I miss that, you know. When you texted the other day, I scrolled up, and it had been seven months since we last texted. A year since we last talked. What happened to us?"

"I don't know," he says. "You were my best friend." He smiles sadly.

"Best friend," I repeat. I'm tired. My voice is quiet. I can feel it. "We used to tell each other everything. Even when it was weird or crazy or uncomfortable." I move to the couch, shedding one blanket. It's warm inside, and I sink into the couch.

He nods and laughs softly. "We were kids. Silly kids. It was so much fun." He sits down next to me. Our shoulders are touching, and I relax a bit and let some of my weight shift onto him. He settles in a bit more and allows me to lean into him. I love his scent. It makes me feel like I'm alive. Chasing dreams and laughing at my failures. I take a deep breath again, savoring our proximity.

"What changed?" He asked quietly.

"Everything," I say. "And it changed too fast. Before I even knew it, you were gone. And I was just this." I gesture around to nothing in particular. He nods his head, though. "That's not true," I continue. "I was good. Good for a while, but then I was so lost. Unbelievably lost."

We're both quiet for a few moments. I feel the fatigue in my bones. It's 7 a.m. I've been up now for 21 hours straight. My head is spinning, but I don't think I could sleep now.

"But you can always ask me anything," I say. "Do you remember the first question you asked me?"

"Hmm." He closes his eyes. "I don't remember the question, but I remember your answer: soul mates."

I laugh. "Yea. That was it. You asked me if I wondered if people were worth it. You were talking about -"

" - Stephanie."

"Yea, Stephanie. Gosh, that was a lifetime ago. How is she?"

"Stephanie?" He stops a moment and pulls out his phone. "Good, she's good. Look. This is her little girl, and that's her son." He swipes the phone and shows me pictures of two little kids. They're beautiful. I look at him for a moment and see a trace of something behind his eyes. "She was a teacher until the kids. Now, she's a mom. She loves it. I talk to her about once a month."

That stings a bit. I mean, sure they were together for a few years, and by all outside appearances, they were a perfect match. But he talks to her every month? And not me? I can't help but think it's me. Maybe I didn't put forth enough effort.

"And Mark and Lexie?"

"Ahh," he breathes out. "It's been awhile since I've talked to Mark, but I think he's doing well. I saw Lexie a couple of weeks ago. I kind of ran into her. She's doing well - but you probably know that." I nod. "Yea, I don't follow her career that well. Mark is managing a restaurant now. They have one kid."

"Mmm." I hum to keep myself up. I don't want him to leave, but I need some sleep. "What are you doing today," I say. I put my cheek on my knees and turn to look at him.

"Nothing, but, no offense, you look like death. You need some sleep."

"Do me a favor?" He nods. "Grab that calendar off the fridge for me?"

He gets up and retrieves the calendar. Matthew's work schedule. I take it from his hands.

"Matthew's on for three days. Starting today," I say. "Stay."

"I can come back."

"I don't want you to disappear. Please stay. Please," I'm begging, and I surprise myself. I try to compose myself. "Hey, I don't work today. Since the Mariners won, Jo is covering the last game. We have a guest bedroom, you can sleep there while I get some sleep. Then, we can do whatever. Please, Jackson."

"You never told me what's going on between you and Matthew," he responds. "I don't want to cause trouble."

"I also didn't tell you if I've ever wondered whether we dated," I say.

"I thought you were avoiding that."

"No," I say. "Not avoiding. I'm avoiding talking about Matthew. I wondered about us for years, but you deserve to hear my whole thought process." I pause. "When I'm in my right mind with some sleep, I want to tell you. But I love you too much and respect you too much not to tell you everything."

A mix of a smile and worry shift through his eyes. He kisses me on the forehead. "Show me where the guest room is?"


	6. Chapter 6

I've had this story in my head for over five years, so I promise the ending is not based on current Gray's. Totally coincidence! Thanks for reading.

 **CHAPTER SIX**

 _Ten years earlier._

"Arizona!" I'm running around our apartment in a frenzy because I'm late for work and can't find my keys. It's not that early, but Arizona comes stumbling out of her room. She looks confused.

"What's going on?" she asks. She seems a little worried. She blinks her eyes several times. "And WHAT are you wearing?"

She starts laughing and can't stop. She slumps down to the floor unable to control her laughter. I stop for a moment to glare at her.

"Can you calm down for a minute to help me find my keys?"

"Ye - esss," she gasps for air a bit. "You know, you never did say what you're new job is."

"That's right, and now I'm certainly not going to say," I say. "Now, please. I'm going to be late."

Thirty minutes later I pull into the parking lot at the Tukwila Family Fun Center. I never found my keys, but Arizona said she'd be home when I return.

I am. A fairy.

Yup. My dad would be so proud. I am not a reporter for the Seattle Daily News. I'm not covering any kind of sport. I dress up as a fairy for kids' birthday parties. Now, even I have to admit that I'm a pretty damn good fairy, but this is not the life I wanted.

I shake those thoughts from my head as I enter one of the large party rooms. I put a smile on my face and get ready to greet some kids.

Seven hours and three birthday parties later, I'm exhausted. There's something sticky on my green leotard. My wings are bent. When I sink into the driver's seat of my car, I glance at myself in the rearview mirror. My makeup is half faded and half smudged. I didn't really have a break to adjust it.

I hit traffic on the way back to Seattle. Now, I'm tired and hungry and cranky. I want to change immediately when I get into the apartment, order Chinese food, and stay on the couch for a solid twenty-four hours.

I trudge up the stairs slowly and reach into my bag forgetting about my keys. Damn it. I tap on the door a couple of times. No response. I knock a bit harder before trying to peer into the window.

I struggle a bit to get my bag open, spilling a few items on the floor before finding my phone. It rings seven times before she picks up.

"Uh, Arizona."

"Hey what's up?" She sounds happy. And it's loud behind her. Too happy. That annoys me even more.

"My keys."

"Your what?" She's shouting. "Ohh… I'm so sorry. I'm soooo sorry. I forgot." She's slurring her speech, and I wonder if she's been drinking all day.

"Where are you?"

"With Nic," she responds. I hear muffled sounds like she's put her hand over the phone. "Come down. Come hang out."

"No," I say.

"Pleeeaassse. The game starts in fifteen minutes, and I don't want to lose my seat."

"Arizona," I say sharply. "Remember the costume?" She laughs, and I ignore it, getting angrier by the moment. "I didn't change yet."

"Come on, April," she says. "No one will care."

I can tell she's not moving. Or budging. I sit down to pick up the stuff I've dropped and rifle through my bag. Leggings and an oversized, 10 years old, Mariners sweatshirt. It's that or green sequins and tights. Well, whatever. I leave the tights on, remove the extra fairy accessories, and throw the ratty old sweatshirt over the leotard. I remember my makeup and think I must look amazingly ridiculous.

I throw my bag in my car and find some plastic flip-flops in the trunk. I put those on and start walking down the street slowly.

When I enter the bar, it's busy. The game is already on, and it's louder than it was on the phone.

"Hey!" I'm greeted by a happy voice at the door. Jackson is holding a single beer in his right hand, and he extends his left arm around my shoulder and gives it a little squeeze. He squints a bit and stares at my face. I sense that he wants to laugh. I can only imagine what my green makeup looks like now. "I was wondering if you'd come in tonight!"

"It definitely wasn't planned," I say, gesturing in a circle around my face.

He releases my shoulder and walks back to the bar with me just a few steps behind him. It's a large circular bar in the center of the room. Patrons are on either side. It seems like he's alone.

"Hey man," he says to a guy sitting in the middle of the bar, "would you mind moving around to a table on the other side?"

"I'm not done yet," the middle-aged man says. If I had to guess, I'd say he's a lawyer or a businessman. His suit looks expensive. I suddenly feel really underdressed.

"I understand, and I'll take care of you," Jackson says. "But my girl just got here, and we've both had a busy week, so this is our only chance to catch up."

I try not to blush at the lie he tells. I'm well past having a crush on Jackson at this point. We have solidified ourselves as friends. I've even met Stephanie, and I like her.

The man takes a look back at me and then turns to Jackson and gives him a wink. Then, he surprises me and gets up and goes around to the other side of the room.

"I appreciate it, man," Jackson says. The man is now at a small table almost out view of the television, so I have no idea how he pulled that off. But I'm grateful.

"Thanks for that," I say once Jackson has the other guy settled in. He brings me a beer and flashes me a quick smile.

"You got it," he says. "I wanted to talk to you anyway."

I nod.

The game is in the seventh inning, and the Mariners are losing pretty badly, 12-0, when the bar starts to thin out.

"You never told me how you became a baseball fan," Jackson says when he can see my attention is no longer on the screen. We've been friends for about six months now. I've made it a practice of going into the bar almost weekly. I've missed the past couple of Fridays because of birthday parties, so in a way, I'm glad that Arizona took the keys with her.

"Oh, hmm," I say. I hum a bit to myself, taking a slow drink of my beer. I've never told a lot of people about my relationship with baseball. Arizona doesn't even know, and she's known me since our freshmen year of college, now five years ago. "You still haven't told me what you write," I say.

He smiles at me. "You don't have to tell me."

"I will," I say. "Just .. just when everyone is gone." He nods and moves to the other end of the bar to check on a customer. I don't think I will mind telling him. I just don't want to be interrupted fifty times while he's still working.

"Ok, then," he says, "you never told me what your new job is." He eyes me suspiciously with half a smile forming on his mouth.

"I'm a fairy," I say.

He laughs. Loud. "A what?"

That catches Arizona's attention. She comes over and stands behind me, leaning her chin on my shoulder.

"You should see it," she says, slurring every "s." "She's the cutest thing."

He laughs again. "I need pictures," he says.

I sigh. I pull out my phone and scroll back to a picture of me with a little girl. I show him, and he laughs. A great big belly laugh that fills the whole bar.

"Stop," I say, pretending to be angry. "I'll have you know I'm one of the best fairies in Seattle. I'm very popular. I'm the most requested fairy. Ever." I add the 'ever' for emphasis, and it's entirely made up.

Now, Arizona is laughing. And between the two of them, I can't help laughing myself.

It's a little after 1 a.m. when the bar clears out, including Arizona. She drops my keys on the bar as she walks out. I guess I had left them in the kitchen. So, now I'm free to enter my home when I please.

"How've you been?" Jackson asks.

"Not bad," I say. "The pixie dust gets to me, and I'd rather be writing, but it is what it is. I have to pay my rent."

"I feel you," he says. He waves his hand around the bar, and I get the sense he understands more than can imagine. He stops to pour himself a glass of water before turning back to me. "So, I write fiction. Unpublished novels mostly."

I nod.

"Just one of those things, you know," he says. "I always wanted to be a writer, but it's torture." He looks at me. "I mean you know that. You just sit there and struggle. And struggle. And then one day, you wake up, and you've been a bartender for five years, and you have no idea what the hell happened. Nothing I've ever written has been published, and it's just starting to get to me."

He gets back to work, and I drink my water silently. I have a lot I want to say, but I'm trying to collect my thoughts, so I start in the right place.

"My dad," I start. "My dad had cancer. He went through chemo when I was in high school."

We're both quiet. He doesn't press me to continue, and I savor the comfortable silence.

"So, when I was eight years old, my dad took me to my first Mariners game," I start again. "And I hated it." I laugh a little. "He was so disappointed, and for a long time, it really hurt our relationship. He was the most diehard Mariners fan you could have known."

I stop again. I don't want to cry when I tell this story. Not in a bar, at least. Jackson still says nothing.

"When he got sick, I would go with him to his treatments. Gosh, it was five days a week. And that's all he'd want to do is watch the Mariners. After first, I resented it, but then I kind of felt comfort in it. And by the time he had passed away, he had taught me almost everything he knew about the sport and team. And then, I just became obsessed. It was almost like it was keeping me alive. Or him - in my head. So, I figured the best thing I could do was write about them. And now…."

Jackson goes back to cleaning. I drink in the silence and stare at him. If I were to be honest, he feels me with the same kind of peace my dad did. They have the same spirit. And I feel lighter now that I've shared the story.

"You'll get there," he says. "You will, and your dad will be smiling down on you every step of the way."

"Thanks," I say.

When he finally locks up, we walk to my apartment. It's become kind of routine that he walks me home. I savor the quiet, cool moments with him.

"I need to get away from being a fairy," I say. "It's going to destroy my soul."

"Well, I know you," he says. "So, make it happen. You gotta keep that spirit bright."

We stand for a moment at the bottom of the stairs leading up to my apartment. He takes a seat on the stairs and stares at me. I sense that he wants to say something but isn't ready. So, I sit on the step right below his my back to him.

"I'm leaving," he says. His voice is quiet, and my heart drops. I know we've just known each other for six months, but he's become a fixture in my life. One of the best friends I've made as an adult.

"When?"

"End of summer," he says. "I can't do this anymore. I just can't. I'm really lost right now. Really lost. And if I don't find myself soon, I'm kind of afraid of what I'll be."

I nod my head. I understand that.

"I have no doubt," I say, "that you've thought this through and you'll find what you're looking for."

He smiles a tiny smile, but I see the relief in his eyes.

"Stephanie is so angry," he says. "She says I'm a chicken and that I'm running away from my problems."

We're quiet again. I turn to face him.

"She has to say that," I say. He looks confused. "She does. She loves you in a partnership, and you need both people to have a partnership." He nods. "But I will say this, taking care of your soul is your responsibility and it's the best thing you can do for yourself."

We're quiet again.

"You're not a chicken," I say. "It's unbelievably brave to take care of your soul."

After a long silence, he says, "I think we're soul mates." It's a whisper.

"I do, too."


End file.
